Crown

My Lady stood within an archand wore her weighty crown of stone.She gave her hand and I embarkedon a great quest I should have known. As we walked, she steadfastly sighedabout the burden that she bore.She dropped her veil and then she criedthat her long neck was tense and sore. Though the brick-red crown was plainly thereupon her brow for all to see,in rusted mirror she would stare,beheld a bare head in its debris. She said: “If you shan’t help me, I shall fadeinto a final waning stateuntil aught remains except my shade —Pray tarry not, I cannot wait.” I, errant knight, took up my shieldand sallied forth to give succor.Remove her crown? She would not yield —and I spent the last of my power. My cold steel lance would finally breakupon the rock of that red crown.My Lady left me in her wakeand sought a new knight on the downs.